


Hallowed

by Lydia_Eve



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20600225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Eve/pseuds/Lydia_Eve
Summary: Seeming finally relaxed enough to enter the room proper, Crowley moved over to the bed and stood in front of Aziraphale, looking down at him. He held out a hand, so Aziraphale slid his fingers into Crowley’s.Crowley let out a breath. “A thousand times I imagined this,” he said softly. “Taking your hand, reaching out and thinking you might reach back. You have no idea…”





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley had saved Aziraphale so often that Aziraphale didn’t even notice that this one was different at first.

Anathema and Newt’s wedding. A small backyard tent affair with over a hundred of the bride’s family in attendance (mostly women). It was a miracle they all fit under the tent.

Aziraphale and Crowley stood near the back of the garden during the beautiful ceremony, exchanging barely a quip or two[1], enjoyed the open bar at dinner, and had enthusiastically joined in the throng on the dancefloor, shaking things that probably shouldn’t be shaken and flipping things that would have killed a mortal, but enjoying themselves immensely all the same. Aziraphale was beaming with happiness.

A slower song started, and as one of the startlingly few men (shaped beings) in attendance, Crowley beat it off the dance floor before Aziraphale had even realized the necessity to do so. As a result, Aziraphale quickly found himself swept up in an embrace that seemed unnecessarily intimate.

“Hello,” said Madam Tracy.

“Oh!” said Aziraphale, realizing that they were beginning to sway a little to the music. Something about seeing truth. Tracy’s smile widened. “Oh.”

“How are you enjoying the evening, love?” Tracy asked.

“Well enough,” said Aziraphale, who couldn’t deny it had been a lovely evening. Anathema and Newt were at the other end of the tent belting out the song just a little off-key. Crowley was at the bar seemingly unaware of Aziraphale’s predicament, but something about the grin on Crowley’s face made Aziraphale suspect Wiles. “Are – ah – you here with Shadwell, then?”

“Yes, he’s very involved in a conversation with a few of Anathema’s cousins about witches,” she said, sounding delighted. “I don’t think he realizes, you know,” she confided.

This was hardly news to anyone.

“But what about you, dear?” Tracy continued. “Anyone here you fancy? Weddings are a lovely place to hook up, you know.”

Aziraphale firmly moved Tracy’s hands back north. “I ― that is to say ― I don’t think that’s any of your―”

Tracy’s eyes had taken on a twinkle Aziraphale resented. “Who is it, then?” she asked.

“I’m sure I don’t―”

“May I cut in?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale had thought he’d been relieved to see him in the Bastille. He was wrong. This right here was relief unlike any other.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, exhaling quickly. “That is ― thank you, Tracy, I shall leave you both to―”

Tracy took Crowley’s outstretched hand as Crowley threw a wink over his glasses to Aziraphale.

“Of course,” said Tracy, and before either of them realized what was happening, she placed Crowley’s hand in Aziraphale’s and disappeared from the dance floor with a near-inhuman speed.

The grin slid from Crowley’s face, and Aziraphale felt himself similarly freeze.

_You’re the one who held me up, never let me fall…___

_ _Aziraphale recovered first with a forced chuckle. “Shall we, then?” he asked, no idea why he was suddenly breathless. (He knew. Of course he knew.)_ _

_ _Crowley cleared his throat. “I suppose,” he said, voice a little rough._ _

_ _Aziraphale gave a tight smile, though he suspected Crowley wasn’t looking at him behind his glasses, and gently placed his other hand on Crowley’s hip._ _

_ _“Is this ― is this all right?” he asked, wanting to be sure._ _

_ _Crowley nodded, his own hand coming up to Aziraphale’s shoulder. _ _

_ _ _I lost my faith, you gave it back to me; you said no star was out of reach…_ _ _

_ _They began to move to the music ― a little stiffly, perhaps, but this was ― new territory for them._ _

_ _Looking at each other seemed a little too intimate for Aziraphale to handle just then, so he stepped in just a little closer so they could look over each other’s shoulders instead. His ear brushed Crowley’s cheek and Aziraphale longed to―_ _

_ _“I’d say Anathema has quite the singing voice, wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale forced himself to say._ _

_ _“Yes.” Crowley’s voice came out as a whisper. _ _

_ _As quips went, it wasn’t much to work with, but Aziraphale was a being of Heaven; he could make small talk with God Herself if he had to. He saw twelve-year-old Adam and his friends near the bar with giant glasses that they were clearly trying to mix every kind of soda pop into. That could work._ _

_ _“I―” Aziraphale began, but he stopped himself suddenly with the shattering realization that Crowley was crying behind his glasses. Tears ran silently down Crowley’s face as they swayed to the music._ _

_ _Aziraphale refrained from asking what was wrong, but only just. It had been over a year now of the two of them on their own side. Lives moved on, the earth continued to spin. Aziraphale had stopped pretending like he didn’t know how Crowley felt about him, but they’d never ― _he’d_ never…_ _

_ _Anathema and Newt had practically collapsed against each other laughing, microphones abandoned. Adam and Pepper were burping the alphabet at their table. Shadwell was smiling faintly and nodding along to something a witch was saying._ _

_ _ _Through the lies you were the truth, my world is a better place because of you…_ _ _

_ _Aziraphale smiled down at the deep plum of Crowley’s suit and gently rested his head against his shoulder. After a moment, Aziraphale felt Crowley lean his cheek into Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale entwined their fingers and held on._ _

_ _When the song ended, Aziraphale panicked. He fought for something to say as they stepped away from each other, but Crowley got there first. He raised their still-joined hands to his lips and gently kissed the back of Aziraphale’s hand._ _

_ _“Good night, angel,” he said softly, his voice catching just a little._ _

_ _Aziraphale watched Crowley walk away, watched him slink through the crown towards the street Aziraphale knew the Bentley was parked on. The one that went too fast, too fast._ _

_ _He caught up to Crowley just on the edge of the light that spilled out into the yard._ _

_ _“Crowley, wait,” he said. His voice hung in the air away from the din and laughter of the wedding._ _

_ _Crowley turned just a little, not totally facing him. “I’m not going to apologize,” he said, his voice still broken._ _

_ _“That’s hardly what I ― you see ―”_ _

_ _“You ―” Crowley tried, “you asked me to dance. I never would have―”_ _

_ _“Well, maybe you should, then!” Aziraphale said._ _

_ _The night air was warm for early October, but Aziraphale was shaking, shivering against the rush of it all, of finally saying―_ _

_ _“Should what?” Crowley asked._ _

_ _Aziraphale huffed. “You know what,” he said._ _

_ _Crowley looked up at the night sky before he spoke again, staring at the heavens, the ones humans got to see. Then he put his face in his hand. “I don’t,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Aziraphale.”_ _

_ _Aziraphale hardly knew himself, and he couldn’t blame Crowley for being confused by the conversation ― by their whole damn lives together._ _

_ _He came closer, slowly, as not to startle Crowley who seemed like he might bolt like an injured animal._ _

_ _Aziraphale picked up Crowley’s hand and returned the favour. He brought his hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss there. When Crowley didn’t move, didn’t get it, Aziraphale slowly turned Crowley’s hand around and placed a kiss on his palm. Please understand, he said with the kiss. Please let it not be too late._ _

_ _Crowley’s breath hitched in a sob and Aziraphale dragged his lips gently up to Crowley’s wrist and kiss him again there. _Please._ Another kiss. _Please understand.__ _

_ _“Oh, angel,” Crowley whispered, his voice all anguish._ _

_ _Aziraphale placed Crowley’s hand against the side of his face and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, earning another gasp of a sob from Crowley, who hadn’t taken back his hand, who was ghosting his fingertips across Aziraphale’s cheek._ _

_ _“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Crowley whispered, seemingly unable to make his voice behave otherwise. “I’m in love with you, Aziraphale. I’m so ― I love you. You must know that.”_ _

_ _“I know,” Aziraphale whispered back, feeling his eyes prickle a little at hearing what he’s always known to be true. “Let’s ― let’s stop denying ourselves this. Let’s ― can we be together now?”_ _

_ _Crowley nodded, nodded again, and clearly couldn’t say anything else. Aziraphale smiled, could feel his whole face lighting up. “Oh, my dear,” he said, moving his own hand to Crowley’s face, touching his tears and feeling him shake under his touch._ _

_ _“Come here,” said Aziraphale, and he pulled Crowley gently into him, feeling Crowley’s forehead hit his shoulder, feeling Crowley’s fists clutch the back of his jacket._ _

_ _“Angel,” Crowley whispered. “Angel, angel, angel, angel…”_ _

_ _Aziraphale could feel himself smiling, stroking Crowley’s hair. It felt good, finally. Finally. And Crowley whispering his name over and over like a prayer._ _

_ _“Let me take us home,” Aziraphale said, still smiling, still so, so happy._ _

_ _“Please,” Crowley choked out._ _

_ _A snap of his fingers, and they were back in the bookshop. Aziraphale glanced out the front window to make sure the Bentley had followed them, and of course it had. Crowley hadn’t moved, hadn’t unclenched himself from the desperate clutching in Aziraphale’s jacket._ _

_ _“Shh, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered, feeling Crowley still shaking against him. “Perhaps we could get some sleep?”_ _

_ _Crowley jerked back. “You don’t sleep,” he said._ _

_ _“Not usually, but perhaps I could try this once,” Aziraphale said, looking up at Crowley’s sunglasses and frowning. He wanted to see his eyes; he wanted to _kiss_ him, but Crowley was still shaking under the effort of trying to hold himself together. Aziraphale could be merciful._ _

_ _“Okay,” Crowley whispered._ _

_ _Aziraphale took his hand and led them to the bedroom that he actually did use for reading once in a while. He switched on the lamp next to the bed, illuminating the small space ― the wardrobe, the piles of books, the artwork he hadn’t found space for in the shop proper. It was a cluttered space, but he liked it. He liked it even more with a gangly demon looming by the door._ _

_ _“Please come in,” Aziraphale said, nervous himself, but better not let Crowley see that lest he bolt like his body was clearly screaming to do._ _

_ _Crowley took a slow step into the room and stopped, seemingly at a loss._ _

_ _Aziraphale bit his lip. “Would you … prefer to leave?”_ _

_ _“No,” said Crowley, quickly. “I’m just ―” He made a vague gesture Aziraphale couldn’t interpret._ _

_ _“Uncomfortable?”_ _

_ _Crowley seemed confused, maybe a little upset by the word, and Aziraphale was going to apologize, but Crowley said roughly, “Terrified.”_ _

_ _Aziraphale couldn’t blame him ― centuries of back and forth, of “he’s not my friend,” of “you go too fast,” of mixed signals and yearning and being reminded again and again that they were on opposite sides._ _

_ _Aziraphale sat on the bed at the foot and smiled up at Crowley. “Be not afraid,” he said, imbuing his voice with just a bit of power._ _

_ _It worked. A slow smile made its way out from behind his sunglasses. “Does that ever work?” he asked. “I can’t imagine anyone could hear an angel’s voice like that and feel better about their situation.”_ _

_ _“I think it just worked for you,” Aziraphale pointed out._ _

_ _“Well,” said Crowley, catching himself. His grin remained. “I’m of prime occult stock.”_ _

_ _“Does your prime occult-ness require pajamas?” Aziraphale inquired._ _

_ _“Er…” said Crowley who looked like his train of thought just went off the rails and exploded, leaving only a ringing behind. Aziraphale knew what it implied, but he really wasn’t going to let them get anywhere with Crowley so wrung out._ _

_ _“I can make them with ducks,” Aziraphale offered._ _

_ _“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly accept,” Crowley said. “Look, I’m fine,” he added, and miracled away his dark purple suit (pity), and fashioned himself grey bottoms and a black t-shirt. Aziraphale bit his lip at the sight._ _

_ _Seeming finally relaxed enough to enter the room proper, Crowley moved over to the bed and stood in front of Aziraphale, looking down at him. He held out a hand, so Aziraphale slid his fingers into Crowley’s._ _

_ _Crowley let out a breath. “A thousand times I imagined this,” he said softly. “Taking your hand, reaching out and thinking you might reach back. You have no idea…”_ _

_ _And Aziraphale didn’t, not really. He knew he’d wanted Crowley for a long time, longer than he’d let himself admit, but just as he knew that the stars were bright, he knew Crowley had loved him for longer._ _

_ _“What else did you imagine?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley’s breathing went desperately shallow. Aziraphale wanted him to take off the damn glasses to see, to really see._ _

_ _“Aziraphale,” he said eventually._ _

_ _“Tell me.”_ _

_ _“I can’t,” Crowley pleaded. “Not yet, please.”_ _

_ _Aziraphale nodded, bringing Crowley’s hand up and pressing a brief kiss to his knuckles before letting go. He snapped his fingers, and he was wearing his own nightclothes ― a stark white set with matching piping. Crowley smiled when he saw it._ _

_ _“Oh, angel,” he said, practically oozing fondness._ _

_ _“Get in,” Aziraphale said, scooching up the bed and turning down the covers._ _

_ _Crowley shimmied into the bed, looking so beloved under the blue and gold tartan, and finally, _finally_, he took off his glasses, laying them down on the table next to him and turning back over to face Aziraphale. He reached out his hand between them._ _

_ _Aziraphale took the offering and brought their clasped hands up near their faces where they lay facing each other. He watched in fascination as Crowley’s golden eyes glowed when Aziraphale entwined their fingers._ _

_ _Crowley cleared his throat. “I’m not used to this,” he said quietly, gazing at Aziraphale._ _

_ _“You’re doing great,” Aziraphale whispered back._ _

_ _“I’m worried I’m going to mess up, I’m a demon ― you have to tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” he insisted, voice still soft, but increasingly urgent._ _

_ _“My dear, do you not think I know who you are?”_ _

_ _Crowley’s expression remained troubled, but he didn’t fight him on it._ _

_ _“Sleep, my dear,” Aziraphale said._ _

_ _When Crowley continued to look uncertain, Aziraphale brought his free hand to Crowley’s face and gently cupped his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised._ _

_ _Crowley closed his eyes at Aziraphale’s touch, but opened them once more, lids heavy._ _

_ _“Me neither,” he said._ _

_ _“Good,” whispered Aziraphale._ _

_ _Crowley gave a small smile and closed his eyes once more. Aziraphale dimmed the lights, and by some miracle, they both slept until morning._ _


	2. Chapter 2

True to his word, Aziraphale didn’t leave. He woke at dawn to a spectacular sight: his favourite demon sprawled in his bed, mouth open, hair a mess, breathing steadily. They’d let go of each other’s hands in the night, but the hours had moved them a little closer together; Crowley’s knee was pressing uncomfortably into Aziraphale’s thigh. Aziraphale smiled to himself, overcome with fondness. He wanted to wake Crowley, but he didn’t want to disturb him. Aziraphale settled well into indecision, and ended up just staring at Crowley for a few hours until 11 rolled around and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He ran a gentle hand over Crowley’s tangled hair. “Crowley,” he whispered.

Crowley was awake at once. Apparently he didn’t come slowly back to the world like humans tended to, or maybe it was just this occasion. Aziraphale was giddy with the idea of finding out how Crowley usually woke up, but ― he found himself pinned by Crowley’s intense gaze, yellow eyes shining in the late-morning light.

“What is it?” Aziraphale found himself whispering, which was not what he’d meant to say at all.

Crowley raised a hand towards Aziraphale’s face, but stopped before touching him. “Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered.

Slowly, so slowly, Crowley’s fingers brushed the side of Aziraphale’s cheek, stroked gently up to his forehead and back again.

“Is this okay?” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale nodded, a little breathless.

Crowley brushed his fingers gently through Aziraphale’s hair, his own breath catching as he did so. Aziraphale watched him in fascination. He’d never seen Crowley as beautiful as he looked like this ― scared and brave and trembling, pupils wide with―

“Come here,” Aziraphale whispered. He saw Crowley’s hesitation, but the demon shuffled slowly into his arms, being careful where to lay his own. Aziraphale stared at the man he held in his arms, knew it had been too long. He’d been denying them both something they wanted. “I love you,” he said to Crowley, even though it scared him, even though it set off his instincts to hide for another decade and pretend like they weren’t friends and he didn’t even like him.

“You love me,” Crowley repeated, unreadable.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “I’m afraid I have for rather a long time.”

Crowley gave a small smile. “That’s a lot to take in, angel.”

“I know,” he said. “But I love you, and I don’t want to pretend like I don’t anymore.”

From so close, Aziraphale could see the flecks of yellow and gold and brown in Crowley’s eyes, could see the faint wrinkles around his face, could see all the demon’s love shining through.

Crowley carefully ― so carefully ― ran his hand along Aziraphale’s bicep to his shoulder. He stared down at their joined hands before asking his question.

“Will you ― kiss me, then?” Crowley asked, not quite looking at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale almost thanked God aloud, but he kept it between him and Her. Instead he smiled and brought his lips down to Crowley’s, pressing them softly together.

Crowley flinched and made a small wounded sound, but he didn’t pull away. He shifted, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Aziraphale’s head ― tender, like Aziraphale always knew he would be.

They kissed again, and again, slow, only lips. Aziraphale had his hand on Crowley’s back, feeling his skin heating under the thin t-shirt. He would very much like to make love to Crowley, but he wasn’t sure if that was on the table, and didn’t want to _push_ it…

On the next slide of lips, their tongues met somewhere in the middle as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Aziraphale’s head filled with a kind of buzzing as arousal flooded through him. He kissed Crowley again, their tongues sliding hot against each other’s, and Aziraphale moaned.

Crowley pulled back, searching Aziraphale’s eyes with a frantic want.

“You…” said Crowley, voice rasping.

“My love,” said Aziraphale, and they fell back together.

Aziraphale was breathing a little hard, and he didn’t want to alarm Crowley with anything so obviously biological going on in his trousers, so he kept his hips tucked just far enough away, but they kissed again, and again, and Aziraphale shifted just a little closer to see if _Crowley_ was―

Huh.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered adoringly between kisses. “This is incredible. I won’t ask for anything more. Just you, like this. It’s perfect.”

It took a second for realization to dawn in Crowley’s golden eyes. “Wait,” he said, when it did, “why’s that?”

“Because it is,” Aziraphale said, stealing another gentle kiss. “Perfect, that is.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley into the kiss. “But is that because you don’t _want_ to ― to … Or because you think _I_ don’t―” Crowley exhaled in frustration.

“Oh, I’m sure you _could_, my dear,” said Aziraphale, reassuringly. Crowley made a slight strangled noise. “No one knows better than I the enthusiasm with which you take to tasks you have your mind set, and I admit the thought of you earnestly applying yourself to―”

Crowley rolled on top of Aziraphale, bringing his erection to Aziraphale’s and grinding down. They both gasped, and when Aziraphale opened his eyes, Crowley was grinning like a madman.

“You’re baiting me, angel,” he said. “I don’t know how you ever convinced anyone you were a good and proper servant of God.”

“I’m just trying to speak your language,” Aziraphale said, blinking wide eyes, shocked. “To put you at ease in a new situation you obviously aren’t prepared for ― _Ohh…_” he said, as Crowley ground down again.

“You are a fine tempter,” Crowley rasped. “You could show Hell a thing or two.”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale said, though a little breathlessly, “I’ve been working indirectly for them for centuries. Years of the Arrangement and you think I can’t tempt a demon into sex? You haven’t been paying attention.”

Crowley smirked a little, though he was lost a little in the rhythm they’d been slowly building.

“Oh, I’ve been paying attention,” he said, and leaned down to place his lips against Aziraphale’s ear. “I won’t thwart anything you try.”

Aziraphale groaned and pulled him down into another open-mouthed kiss, their rocking still going strong. “Then ― oh ― then take off your clothes,” Aziraphale said.

Without hesitation, Crowley was off him, pulling off his t-shirt and standing at the side of the bed to pull off his pajama bottoms and boxers at once. He nearly dove back to the bed, but Aziraphale caught up with him and pressed a hand against his naked stomach.

Feeling more aroused than he could ever remember, Aziraphale ran his hand up Crowley’s chest and back down his side. “You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale said, hand coming down to rest at Crowley’s hip. In this position ― Crowley standing and Aziraphale sitting in front of him ― there was an obvious act that Aziraphale wanted very much to try. Crowley, already trembling from the intimacy or the arousal or the compliment or some combination, followed Aziraphale’s gaze downwards and shivered.

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, glancing back up for confirmation.

“Yesss,” Crowley managed before Aziraphale took the base of his cock in his hand. He barely had time to let out another hiss at the contact before Aziraphale brought his mouth down and slipped the head of his cock into his mouth.

And oh, Crowley was loud, as Aziraphale had hoped he would be. Something like a whine came out of him as Aziraphale took him all the way down, then as Aziraphale began to move up and down, Crowley was all moans and curses and shaking and clutching.

“Angel … _God_, angel, you’re ― _fuck_…”

Aziraphale hummed around Crowley’s cock, basking in the intimate taste and smell of his lover. Aziraphale’s other hand gripped Crowley’s hip hard, nails digging in just slightly, just enough to―

“Aziraphale, stop,” Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale pulled off, mouth obscenely wet. Crowley stared at him in awe. “Please,” he whispered.

“Anything, darling,” said Aziraphale, pleased with the state he’d worked Crowley into.

“Not like this,” Crowley said. “I don’t want to come like ― can you…”

“What is it?”

“I want you in me,” said Crowley, “_please_.”

Aziraphale stood, forcing Crowley to step back, and pulled him into a gentle kiss that nevertheless had Crowley almost sobbing into his mouth.

“You are delicious like this,” Aziraphale murmured.

“I love you,” Crowley gasped, nearly incoherent. “I love you. I can’t believe―” He clutched at Aziraphale’s hair, at the collar of his nightclothes, pulling just a little like he wanted to remove them, but couldn’t remember how.

Aziraphale smiled into the next kiss, leaning his body back far enough that he could unbutton his own shirt. He almost couldn’t take it off with Crowley clinging to him like that, but Crowley realized his mistake and jumped back as though burned.

“I’m so―” he started to say, then saw that Aziraphale was now bringing his own trousers down and kicking them off so they were both as naked as they day they were ― well.

“Be not afraid,” Aziraphale reminded him, earning sudden snort, and a bit of calm coming back into Crowley’s eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” said Crowley, starting to grin properly, but catching sight of Aziraphale’s cock, and his face went a bit slack again.

“Do you want to touch me?” Aziraphale tried instead, and Crowley laughed again, though maybe a bit hysterically this time, and he sank to his knees.

Aziraphale thought Crowley was there to return the gesture, but ― he wasn’t. Crowley brought his palms up to Aziraphale’s thighs, and pressed his face into his hip. Laying kiss after kiss, traveling up Aziraphale’s stomach and down his thigh, and, yes, open mouthed on his penis, but Crowley only stayed there a moment. It took a moment for Aziraphale to realize that Crowley was _worshiping_ him, and that was only because he had the thought that this was _divine_, and oh, Crowley.

Aziraphale slowly bent until he was on his own knees in front of Crowley so they could worship together. Aziraphale kissed across Crowley’s tantalizing collarbone, and felt Crowley’s fingers tracing his nipple. They nipped and sucked and kissed, breathing disbelieving laughter into each other’s mouths as they got to know each other in this new (biblical) way.

“I can’t believe you want this,” Crowley gasped, as Aziraphale kissed below his ear. “You’re incredible. I’ve wanted you ― so long.”

“Crowley, you’re exquisite. I knew you would be.”

“You ― ah ― thought about this before?” Crowley said through a groan.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, trailing kisses down to Crowley’s shoulder. “I thought about you once, when I ― you know.”

Crowley chuckled, a little out of breath. “You know?” he repeated. “You’ve had my cock in your mouth and you’re too shy to talk about wanking?”

“No,” said Aziraphale, giving Crowley the tiniest pinch on his arse. The demon’s eyes opened wide. “I just didn’t want to get you thinking too much about me doing that. I didn’t want you to ask to see me do it.”

It seemed Crowley hadn’t previously considered that, judging by the stunned and glassy look on his face. He made a faint gurgling sound.

“And it’s not that we couldn’t do that another time,” Aziraphale said, standing up and offering Crowley his hand, “but right now I want to make love to you, if you’d permit me.”

Crowley allowed Aziraphale to pull him to his feet. He looked awestruck. “Anything,” he said. “Everything. There’s nothing I don’t want from you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled, deliriously happy. “I love you,” he said, still a little bit awed at the idea of being able to say it. It was worth it for the tender look he got from Crowley in return. The demon had always been good to him, so good, and having him like this was so far beyond that fantasy Aziraphale’d let himself indulge in.

“I love you so much, angel,” Crowley returned immediately.

“Can I ― prepare you?” Aziraphale breathed.

“Yes,” Crowley gasped.

They shared another kiss, another agonizing slide of tongues, erections brushing each other and setting off sparks in Aziraphale’s mind before he lay Crowley down on the bed once more. He reached for the lubricant ― green apple flavoured, because why not ― and coated his fingers with it.

Crowley was on his back, writhing under Aziraphale, and he hadn’t even been touched.

“Aziraphale, please,” Crowley begged. “Please, please.”

Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s knees up and pushed a finger into him.

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale breathed.

Moving slowly so he could catch all Crowley’s reactions, Aziraphale pressed and stroked, savouring the noises he created in his lover.

He added a second finger, picking up the pace just a little, but Crowley grabbed his wrist.

“Slow, angel,” he said, gasping. “I’m going to come like this, and I want to ― I want you.”

“I understand, my dear,” Aziraphale said gently, slowing right down, letting Crowley’s shaking hand guide him. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Aziraphale repeated, watching Crowley, shaking and sweating and utterly wrecked. He’d never seen Crowley so breathtaking.

“I’m ready, Aziraphale,” Crowley insisted after a minute. “I need you. Please.”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling a little nervous himself, but he was so, so ready to feel Crowley like this. He added more lube to his own cock and lined up with Crowley’s slick hole.

Crowley nodded, almost out of control. “Do it, _ahh_,” he cried as Aziraphale pushed in.

“Ohh,” Aziraphale echoed. He was only half in, but he had to fight the urge not to come right there. He kissed Crowley’s jaw, needing a moment, but able to stop showering Crowley with affection. Crowley’s heat was amazing, slick, tight. “Is that all right?” he gasped, wanting to be sure he hadn’t hurt Crowley.

“Beautiful,” Crowley said, bearing down just a little, his hands flying up to clutch at Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Take me,” he begged, “God, Aziraphale, please.”

And who was Aziraphale to refuse such a plea. He started to move, going in a little deeper each time until he was quickly fully seated. He paused there a moment, rolling his hips, trying to hit the ― Crowley all but screamed ― so he did it again, and again. Aziraphale was barely pulling out with each thrust, but he made it count, rolling into Crowley hard each time. They were both out of breath, clinging to each other, words said and forgotten immediately, those same words sinking deep into each other’s souls. It was 6000 years in the making, or maybe not, but it was everything, everything to the angel and demon of Earth.

Aziraphale could feel his release cresting within him, but he desperately wanted to see Crowley ― didn’t want to miss a moment of him. He reached down between them, fumbling to touch Crowley’s cock, and moved his hand to their rhythm.

“Look at me,” Aziraphale gasped between thrusts. “Let me see you.”

Crowley’s clenched eyes flew open, staring at Aziraphale in complete veneration. His mouth was slack, breaths coming out fast. It was a struggle not to close his eyes, Aziraphale could see. He had one leg wrapped around Aziraphale’s back, and the other he used to push himself up to meet Aziraphale’s thrusts, moaning harder each time. He looked lost and debauched, right on the edge of sanity. “Come for me,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley did. His body clenched so hard that he crumpled almost into a sitting position, hitting Aziraphale in the chest.

Aziraphale let go immediately, Crowley’s aftershocks pulling his orgasm out of him with the force of an explosion. Aziraphale cried out, thrusting his last bit of pleasure into Crowley as liquid spilled between them.

When his senses returned, Aziraphale realized Crowley was still shaking, still clinging to him. He pulled out, a little shaky himself, and collapsed on the bed next to Crowley.

“Well,” he said. “I daresay that was a long time coming.”

Crowley’s head snapped up, and he searched Aziraphale’s eyes before breaking into an incredulous smile.

“You did not just say that,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale laughed, delighted. “Well it was,” he said.

“You’re impossible,” Crowley said, snuggling into him, placing a tender kiss on the angel’s chest.

Aziraphale hummed, threading his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I’ve never done that before, you know.”

“No?” Crowley asked, a little surprised.

“No. Why, have you?” Aziraphale was interested in the answer, but not in a way that would have really mattered. He was pretty sure of the answer, anyway.

“No,” Crowley said slowly, “but you’re different. You like all those Earthly things.”

“A certain demonic one, too,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“I should hope so,” Crowley teased, apparently more confident now. Aziraphale liked that. Liked this.

“Do you want to go for lunch?” Aziraphale asked. “Or maybe spend some more time here? I am equally happy to do either, so long as it’s understood that want to take you to bed again as soon as lunch is over.”

Crowley grinned. [1] “Insatiable, angel?” he said, clearly going for teasing, but just sounding fond, really. “Colour me shocked.”

They went for lunch, made love again, and again the next day. They got drunk, went for walks in the park, made love again, learned with joy that they were still _them_ ― still as fussy, snarky, tender, in love with each other as they had ever been.

Days turned into weeks and Aziraphale couldn’t get enough, couldn’t say well enough what Crowley meant to him, couldn’t quite put it into words, couldn’t fully express it with adoring, lingering kisses, though he probably came close. He wanted to make sure Crowley _knew_, even though he’d started slowly believing, really believing Aziraphale when he told Crowley how much he loved him.

The sun shone bright in the park. Aziraphale was dressed in a cream-coloured wool jumper ― nothing fancy. They were playing a game of which mortal’s life they could influence the least with a miracle ― their version of people watching.

“There,” Aziraphale said. “A penny gone from the bottom of that woman’s purse.”

“Bollocks,” Crowley said, arms folded and slouching artfully on the bench. “Humans always seem to know exactly how much money they have, even when they’re trying not to think about it. I bet she’ll notice and think she’s going crazy. You’re practically gaslighting her, angel.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “What do you have, then?”

Crowley waved a careless hand at a man walking his dog. “There. The gum in his mouth used to be spearmint. Now it’s peppermint.”

“He could choke with such a drastic change! You’ve all but killed him,” Aziraphale insisted as the man heaved a sigh and bent down to retrieve the dog’s leavings.

Crowley leaned back and tilted his head to look at Aziraphale over his sunglasses. His lips quirked a little. “Fine, let me try again,” he allowed. He searched the park, gaze stopping near a woman on a blanket with an e-reader, but clearly reconsidering.

“Not her?” Aziraphale asked, catching this.

“Hmm? Oh, I know your rules, angel, no one with a book, even if e-readers are ours,” Crowley added, catching sight of group of joggers. “Now―”

“You’ve been ― doing that for me?” Aziraphale asked. He’d never had such a rule, but now that he thought about it, Crowley had never gone after one of the many people who came to the park with books.

“Didn’t want to upset you into losing,” Crowley said, leaning forward, eyes on the joggers.

It was such a simple thing to him ― and to Aziraphale, actually, because in the grand scheme of things, this was barely even a gesture ― but it was indeed indicative of the way Crowley always was with Aziraphale ― kind, considering, selfless, beautiful.

“Now, those people―” Crowley began.

“Marry me,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley jerked a little. Turned away from the joggers.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to it like the night they’d first gotten together.

“What, because I don’t go after readers?” Crowley asked, a little strangled.

“No,” Aziraphale said. “Because we’re sitting here, and angel and a demon, playing this stupid game because it’s fun and we love it and we love each other and I want to ― to ― to do _dumb shit_ with you forever.”

Crowley’s lips were parted, but damn those glasses, Aziraphale still couldn’t see him. He reached out to take them off, but Crowley’s hand closed around his wrist.

“No,” said Crowley.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said, “I just want to see you.”

Crowley shook his head, was maybe shaking all over, if Aziraphale looked closely, but Aziraphale was too consumed with the thick sinking feeling he hadn’t experienced since the Apocalypse.

“I meant,” Crowley said softly, “no. No, I won’t ma―” He choked on the word and released Aziraphale’s hand, sliding sharply away on the bench.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his hand still hanging between them.

Crowley stood. His head was turned as far away from Aziraphale as it could be, but that hardly mattered, because Crowley bit out a brisk “I’m sorry,” and the rest of his body followed, leaving Aziraphale alone in the park with nothing but meaningless miracles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devilishly[return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale didn’t see Crowley for a week. The last time that had happened had been before Adam and Warlock (and that other child, God protect him, wherever he was) were born. Since they’d been together as lovers, they’d barely gone a few hours.

The lacquered door to Crowley’s flat still looked as shiny as ever, despite Aziraphale’s steady knocking. Starting at the two day mark, he did this about twice a day, every day, headless of any neighbours he might be bothering.

“Crowley,” he said. “Please. I’m sorry,” he repeated, not even sure what he was supposed to be sorry for. He’d upset the demon, that much was clear, and while Aziraphale had never intended to do that, he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry for speaking his feelings, for ― God ― for _proposing_.

The door was cool against his forehead as he leaned against it in defeat.

“I’m sorry. I love you. Please come back to me.”

Back at the bookshop, Aziraphale paced, fretted, tried to read, failed to read. It hadn’t been long ―a handful of months, which was only a minute in comparison to their long lives ― but Aziraphale had already been picturing eternity with them together. He wanted breakfasts in bed and reading with Crowley’s head in his lap and a home and ― well, it didn’t matter what he wanted, did it. Not if Crowley didn’t want it also.

_I meant, no. No, I won’t marry you._

The phone rang.

Snapping his attention away from a book he was only staring mindlessly into anyway, Aziraphale nearly tripped over himself in his haste to answer it.

“Crowley?” he breathed into the phone.

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice was gruff, almost unrecognizable.

“Oh, thank ― someone. Listen, I’m so sor―”

“Angel,” he said again. Aziraphale fell silent. There was a long pause. “I love you.”

Aziraphale waited. It did seem like Crowley was going to follow with something. When nothing else was forthcoming, Aziraphale answered: “I love you too.”

“You have to know that,” he said, voice still off, still too stiff. “What I said. It wasn’t ― about that. It wasn’t because of that.” He broke off, and silence reigned again over the line.

“Crowley, come back, please,” Aziraphale said. “Forget I said anything. I don’t need to get married. I never meant to upset you.”

“Upset me,” Crowley repeated, with the hollowest of laughs. A laugh that worried Aziraphale, made fear clench cold around his heart. Crowley had never sounded like that before.

“Where are you?” Aziraphale said, too frightened to ask gently.

The line remained silent.

“Tell me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, sharper, voice rising in panic.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, quieter. His voice almost sounded like him, like everything weren’t a mess.

“Crow―”

The line went dead.

Aziraphale nearly lost his mind. That ― that wouldn’t do. He looked at the receiver in his hands and snapped, “Take me back to him.”

The phone in Crowley’s motel room sprang into life again, and Crowley, who hadn’t gotten very far, was there to hear Aziraphale’s voice ringing clear through.

“Now listen here, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, “you don’t have to marry me, you don’t have to be with me at all, but we’ve been through too much for this, and I won’t have you running off to Alpha Centauri or the Pleiades or ― what have you. I am still your best friend, and _you are going to talk to me_.”

There was a short silence, and Aziraphale _prayed_, and at last a small sigh came over the line. “Yes, angel,” Crowley said, his fondness impossible to miss.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, flustered and relieved and very aware of the fragile grip he had on the situation, “well, good. Now then. What ― has happened?”

Another sigh. “You ― you asked me to marry you,” Crowley said.

“Yes, and I said never mind about that, pretend like I never―”

“And I wanted,” Crowley continued, blowing through Aziraphale’s placating as though he hadn’t been speaking at all, “I want to marry you more than I have ever wanted anything.”

Aziraphale stayed silent. He couldn’t be relieved, not with the way Crowley’s voice was breaking like that.

“Aziraphale, in my deepest fantasies, I dream about marrying you in front of God, in a synagogue, or whatever holy place you chose. I want to swear in front of Her that I will love you until humanity is gone and we’re not even memories, or until my last two atoms are pulled apart, if that’s even how we go…” Crowley trailed off. 

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath to not let show that he was crying. “But,” he said very carefully, “if it’s the holy ground, we can get you a wheelchair, or ridiculously high platform shoes, but my dear ― I would happily marry you in a field or on a star or even at City Hall if it meant being with you and saying the words.”

Crowley sobbed, the horrible sound traveling down the line, twisting itself into Aziraphale’s heart. “Angel, don’t―” he said, unable to continue.

“No,” Aziraphale said, gasping a little himself now, “no, why shouldn’t I? We can _have_ this. We can have each other.”

“But we _can’t_,” Crowley said, “not like that, not like it _should_ be. Cheating the hallowed ground isn’t the _point_. The point is that I am a damned thing, unwelcome to the Grace of God’s places, of _your_ places, angel.”

And _angel_ no longer sounded quite like an endearment just then, but a proclamation ― an impasse.

You are holy and I am not.

_We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common, I don’t even like you._

“Crowley, don’t,” Aziraphale said, closing his eyes. He had nothing to say to that; he couldn’t very well tell Crowley that the sky wasn’t blue and two plus two equaled five. He had only them to talk about ― their very human love, the love that was slipping out of his hands. He used human words. “Come back, please. Let’s make this right. I want nothing more in this world than to kiss you right now.”

Crowley took a shuddering breath. “To kiss you right now…” he said. Aziraphale held his breath.

“But I can’t,” said Crowley, and for the final time that day, the line went dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind comments. they've all been lovely to read.   
There is only one chapter after this. xo

It took another three months for Aziraphale to prepare.

He didn’t regret proposing; it was a beautiful day, he was _happy_, and he wanted to marry Crowley.

Crowley wanted to marry him.

Aziraphale didn’t think it was wrong how he proposed, but it eventually occurred to him that it could have been done better. He’d thought about it, taken notes, made some calls, paid an exorbitant amount of money, and tonight, finally, he was ready. It would work. It had to.

He’d reached out to Crowley by telephone once or twice more since their heartbreaking phone call. Aziraphale didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to make him cry again. Aziraphale had talked about ordinary mundane things ― customers he’d thwarted, a new bakery that had opened nearby. He even heard a faint laugh from Crowley at one of his jokes.

He ended every phone call the same way: “I miss you, Crowley.”

“I miss you, too, angel.”

The sun had just set, leaving the darkening world in pinks and blues when Aziraphale made his way to the hill. He’d found the perfect location in Scotland for the occasion. It was far enough away from civilization that the only light was from the fading sun and the stars; the only sound from the wind and trees. The hill looked out over the woods and a river. Aziraphale could see mountains in the distance.

A snap of his fingers, and the hillside filled with candles. Most of the trees hadn’t regained their leaves yet, so the branches coiled themselves to hold thousands of silver candles, twisting into candelabras that would make every queen and king in history writhe in envy. Another snap and they lit themselves, the forest around the hill lighting up like the dawn.

He left the very top of the hill empty. He knew how this was done.

When he was sure that everything was ready, when he took enough steadying breaths, Aziraphale knelt near the top of the hill and began.

He closed his eyes; said the words.

With a biblical crack of thunder and lightning, the air rent apart at the top of the hill, and a figure stepped out of the air.

Crackling with energy and sparks, his hair blowing around him in untamed curls, and gathering storm clouds behind his spread wings, Crowley stepped forward.

He had his eyes closed. The wind screamed down from the sky, extinguishing every candle. Crowley had never looked quite so inhuman.

Aziraphale was terrified.

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, narrowing in on Aziraphale, face a stone mask. The sky was awash in a storm ― lightning and thunder and something else ― something frightening and not of this world. Crowley’s power.

Crowley finally looked away from Aziraphale to take in the scene before him. His eyes lit on the darkened candles, on the forest around them, of the sky tearing itself apart. When he spoke, his voice came in on the wind of a thundercloud.

“_Aziraphale_,” he said. “_Why am I here?_”

And here’s where Aziraphale’s courage threatened to fail ― it wasn’t just that Crowley looked as untouchable as Aziraphale had ever seen him, or the energy that crackled around his body like a cloak. It was that Aziraphale was pretty sure he had only one try.

“I ―” said Aziraphale, shouting over the wind. “Because I want you to marry me.”

Crowley seemed perturbed, his golden eyes darting around. “_You don’t mean that._”

“I do!” shouted Aziraphale. “I love you and I want to be with you.”

Crowley stepped forward. “_But why have you done it like this?_” Crowley boomed, advancing towards Aziraphale like a lion on the hunt. Aziraphale was very aware that his kneeling position made himself unnecessarily vulnerable.

“To show you―”

“_TO SHOW ME WHAT, AZIRAPHALE? THAT YOU CAN TRAP ME HERE WHENEVER YOU’D LIKE?_”

“Trap you?”

“_YOU SUMMONED A DEMON. I AM AT YOUR COMMAND._”

“Summoned you?” Aziraphale repeated, his heart sinking. “Is that what you think I did?”

Crowley’s step’s faltered. His anger remained, but there was uncertainty to it now. “Didn’t you?” he demanded.

Aziraphale didn’t move, didn’t rise from the ground. He let Crowley see his supplication. “Is that what it felt like?”

“Not ― quite. I ― I don’t understand,” Crowley said.

“My dear, I _prayed_ to you.”

Crowley stopped entirely.

“I ― I thought it might work,” Aziraphale said, nearly whispering, knowing Crowley could still hear him anyway. “I don’t think anyone has ever prayed to a demon before, but our essences are the same, and beyond that ― you are the most holy creature I know of. You are _good_ and _kind_ and you take care of children, even when angels themselves try to kill them. You stopped the end of the world. You are a guardian of humanity. I’ve never known anyone more worthy of worship.”

Crowley’s face remained still, but Aziraphale could tell he was desperately listening to every word.

“So I prayed to you, hoping you would hear me―”

“How?”

Aziraphale paused. “I ― beg your pardon?”

“I felt your call,” Crowley said, “but I wasn’t sure what ― it was confusing. Tell me what you said.”

Oh. Aziraphale felt his own face soften into a smile. Repeating this part would be a pleasure.

Crowley as close enough now that if Aziraphale reached out, he might ― and yes. Crowley brought his hand up to hold Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale nearly cried in relief. He allowed himself a moment with his eyes closed as he pressed his forehead to the back of Crowley’s hand. Then he looked up into Crowley’s eyes.

“Dear Anthony J. Crowley,” he began, “the one who drives too fast and loves too much.” Aziraphale heard Crowley suck in a breath, but he didn’t stop. “The Garden’s serpent and original tempter, the one who hid the nine children in the ark and didn’t sleep for forty nights. The one who saved my head a thousand times, the one who did miracles for heaven under the guise of a deal with an angel. The one who scares houseplants and drinks wine and takes me to dinner. The one who fell in love with an angel. The one too good for Hell and too good for Heaven, the one who belongs on Earth. The one I love, the one I trust ― my best friend … I pray to thee.”

Tears rolled down Crowley’s face as his power activated once more at the prayer’s end. He closed his eyes and expanded his wings, gripping Aziraphale’s hand hard enough to bruise.

“I pray to thee, and I ask ― no, _beg_ thee to hear my prayer. Please marry me, Crowley,” said Aziraphale finally producing a platinum ring that shone with the light of the stars. Crowley’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “I miss you,” Aziraphale continued, “and I know you think we aren’t of the same stuff, but we are, we _are_. I’m terrified of losing you, terrified of the thought of life without you. Marry me in front of God and _tell_ Her that we belong together. Crowley … please don’t break my heart.”

The wind hadn’t stopped, still screamed down from the Heavens. Crowley almost seemed impassive to Aziraphale’s whole prayer, if it weren’t for the grip of his hand and the burning in his eyes.

Aziraphale watched in equal parts horror and hope as Crowley knelt in front of Aziraphale. Slowly, so slowly, he brought Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and placed a delicate kiss there.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded.

And Crowley smiled ― smiled so softly, so tenderly that the light of God seemed to fill them both. “Be not afraid,” he said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is complete now. Thank you to everyone who has read it and left thoughtful comments. :)

**Epilogue**

The first time they came by the church, the Reverend Paul Louis threw them out of his office.

To be fair, he had just witnessed the demonic miracle of the shriveled begonia in his office springing back to life.

“_Get out!_ he’d bellowed.

The two of them left.

Trying to calm his racing heart, Paul re-read the email one Anthony Crowley had sent him the week previous.

_Dear Mr. Louis,_

_My partner and I are looking to get married in Camden Park United Church this September. We are not members of your congregation, but I volunteered at your Sunday School a few years ago and I always liked the place. If you will oblige, we’d like to set up a meeting with you to discuss some of the more sensitive details of our union._

_Regards,_

_Anthony J. Crowley_

Paul had acquiesced, and the two men, Aziraphale and Anthony, wheeled in one previously happy Wednesday afternoon.

“Thank you _so_ much for meeting with us,” said Aziraphale, beaming at Paul as they shook hands.

Anthony, scowling from his wheelchair, shook Paul’s hand politely enough as well.

“You said you wanted to discuss some sensitive issues,” Paul said. “It’s this way to my office. Please.”

“What a charming place,” Aziraphale said, hovering near the bookshop in Paul’s office. “I hope your job allows you enough time for leisurely reading. These are some rare first editions, if I’m not mistaken.”

“My husband and I have a flat near Brighton,” Paul told him, charmed. “We like to get away when we can.”

“Oh, how lovely.”

Paul usually dropped the “husband” bomb to get it out of the way with newcomers so that if they had a problem, everyone knew upfront. In this case he did it to put the two men at ease; Paul had assumed (very wrongly) that perhaps they were worried about a same-sex wedding in a church.

The three of them sat around the desk now, a slight anticipatory air hanging about the room. Paul waited. As a minister, he was very good at listening.

“The thing is,” said Aziraphale ― Paul wondered if Anthony was ever going to talk ― “the thing is. We are hoping to be married in a church.”

Paul nodded, waiting.

“To ― to be married before God,” Aziraphale continued, twisting his hands a little.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Paul said with a smile.

“Yes, I do hope so,” said Aziraphale. “Crowley said this was the place. He really admired the work you do here when he volunteered.”

“Yes, when was that, exactly?” asked Paul. He’d gone through the church’s records and couldn’t find anything with Anthony’s name.

“Haven’t been here in about three years, now,” Anthony said.

“You never said how long you worked here, dear,” Aziraphale said, turning to his partner.

“Since Warlock was about three,” said Anthony with a shrug. “I had the police background check for the Dowlings anyway. Thought I could put it to good use before it expired.”

Aziraphale visibly melted a little. Anthony, who still hadn’t taken off his sunglasses, went a little red behind them. Paul thought they were adorable.

“The problem is, Mr. Louis,” Aziraphale continued, “well ― not a _problem_, exactly, but―”

“I’m a demon,” Anthony said.

Paul hesitated, waiting for them to finish the joke or whatever.

“And, well ― I am an angel,” said Aziraphale.

Paul nodded. Now, how to get these crazy people to leave.

“And we _love_ each other,” Aziraphale continued. “We’ve gone through quite a lot to get here, I’m afraid, and we want to declare our love in a holy place so God understands.”

“Mr. Fell―” Paul began.

“He doesn’t believe us, angel,” Anthony said.

“Well, no, but I don’t want to alarm him with any ―”

Anthony took off his sunglasses, revealing the strangest eyes Paul had ever seen. Normally he wouldn’t flinch at someone’s oddity, no matter how ― well, odd ― but it was that combined with the previous suggestion that the man was actually a demon that made Paul push his chair backwards.

“Mr. Crowley,” Paul said, immediately ashamed of his reaction.

“Just Crowley is fine,” said Crowley, waving a dismissive hand. “And Aziraphale is right ― we’ve gone through the end of the world to be here. So think about it, please, and call us if you think you can handle it.”

With that, Crowley looked at the withered plant on the desk between them, offered, “That’s pitiful,” snapped his fingers, and watched in satisfaction as the plant shook off the dead leaves and popped back into a bright orange bloom.

Paul’s jaw dropped. “_Get out!_

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, hastening to grab the handles of Crowley’s wheelchair. Crowley relaxed back into it as Aziraphale wheeled him back out into the hallway. “That really didn’t go very well.”

“Don’t worry, angel,” Paul heard Crowley said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

***

He didn’t tell his husband. Of course he didn’t.

Lying awake that night, unable to sleep, Paul finally gave up and padded back into the kitchen where his laptop was.

Waiting for it to boot up, Paul drummed his fingers anxiously on the table, jiggled his leg, clenched his teeth.

When Oliver had asked him at dinner what was wrong, Paul had made up some story that Oliver clearly didn’t believe, but Paul had laughed convincingly enough at the end that Oliver thought the whole thing was a set up of the joke and let it go. Paul had fled to the bathroom for a while after that to be sick.

Now that the laptop was on, Paul pulled up the files from three years ago. Clearly Crowley hadn’t used the same name, so Paul started going through pictures. The thought of those children in the church’s care exposed to a literal demon … churches had enough negative press with who they let work with children, that’s why they did the strict background checks now. Not that the press was going to believe it, Paul thought a little hysterically.

There.

Paul scrolled back to the last photo. A woman in her forties in a wheelchair. Dark glasses. Sensible shoes. Prim posture. Devilish smirk. 

Paul called up Malikah, who ran the Sunday School.

“Paul? It’s 2:30. If this is about what Jimmy did with the tabernacle, I already talked to his parents, and―”

“No,” said Paul. “I need to. Just ― do you remember a volunteer from a few years ago ― a woman in a wheelchair? Probably always wore sunglasses?”

“Miss Ashtoreth!” Malikah exclaimed, her voice suddenly delighted, if still a little raspy from sleep. “Yes, of course. Is she coming back?”

“Er, don’t think so,” said Paul, “I was just wondering how she was. What was she like. She, er, asked for a reference.”

“Oh my God, give her one,” said Malikah. “That woman was an _angel_.”

“Er,” said Paul.

“She was there when little Allison started coming in with all those bruises, you probably don’t remember. I think it was the year before you started,” said Malikah. “Miss Ashtoreth asked about it one day and I told her my suspicions. Before I could finish even explaining, she wheeled through the main doors, interrupting the service, and demanded the father explain himself. The man confessed on the spot. It was a miracle there were two police officers in the congregation that day. He was given a life sentence. First life sentence for that particular crime in England, I believe.”

“Is that so,” said Paul faintly.

“Oh yes, it was extraordinary. But she was wonderful in the ordinary ways too. Great with the kids. Had a lovely singing voice. A little rough around the edges, but what can you do. Tell her we’d love to have her back at the Sunday school if you talk to her again.”

“Right,” said Paul, head swimming. “Will do.”

He went to Brighton the next day. Needed some time to think.

When he came back, he told his husband everything. Oliver didn’t laugh, didn’t asked if Paul was feeling okay. Simply took Paul’s hands in his.

“Paul, love, if these were indeed divine beings, perhaps you should consider that their request was legitimate.”

“You ― believe this?”

“Don’t you?”

It was one thing _believing_. It was another thing _knowing_.

Paul rang Crowley a few days later.

“Reverend!” said Crowley, sounding delighted. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”

“Who is it?” Aziraphale’s voice said in the background. “Is it him?”

“Yeah,” Crowley whispered.

It was weirdly normal.

“Listen,” said Paul. “We don’t normally marry people who aren’t part of the congregation, but perhaps we could get to know you instead. Especially since you used to volunteer with us. Would the two of you like to have dinner with me and my husband tonight?”

He could hear Crowley’s grin. “We’d love to.”

It went … okay.

Paul answered the door, startled to see Crowley lounging against the doorframe. The wheelchair was no where in sight.

“Oh,” said Paul, “you’re walking.” He held open the door for them. “Please, come in,” he added, not sure if Crowley needed a direct invitation, then wondering horribly if he indeed shouldn’t have invited a demon in.

“Thanks,” said Crowley, striding past him. “The chair is only in churches. The holy ground and all that.”

Paul must have looked as confused as he felt, because Aziraphale patted him on the arm. “It burns his feet,” Aziraphale said in an undertone. “Demons don’t react well to holy places.”

“I see,” said Paul faintly. He looked up in time to see the horrific sight of Oliver shaking hands with a demon.

“Call me Crowley,” said the demon touching Paul’s husband. “Is that risotto?” he asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. “Aziraphale loves it. You have to show me how you’re making it. I can never get it right for him.” Oliver, always a sucker for compliments to his cooking, happily led the demon into the kitchen, and that was that.

Paul looked at the angel.

“Thank you for having us,” Aziraphale said quietly. “What made you change your mind?”

Paul sighed. “I’m not sure. I married a white man, and neither of our families were too happy with that,” he said, remembering with a wince. “I guess I thought I know a little bit about things that can stand in the way of a relationship.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Neither of our families would be there, if you’re wondering,” he said, which was definitely reassuring. “We’ve made a fair number of human friends we’d like to invite, though.”

“Human friends,” Paul repeated.

“Oh, dear, this must still be so strange for you,” said Aziraphale.

A peel of Oliver’s laughter came from the kitchen followed by the pleased cadence of Crowley’s voice.

“Maybe a little,” Paul said.

By the time dinner was served, Paul had relaxed a little. Oliver and Crowley were best friends.

“Did you know he gardens?” Oliver asked brightly as Crowley poured the wine they’d brought.

Paul didn’t think he’d be forgetting the begonias anytime soon. “I did,” he said.

“So how did you two meet?” Oliver asked.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, looking nervously at Crowley. “In Eden.”

“_Really,_” said Oliver, who was altogether too fascinated.

“It wasn’t like that, though,” Crowley said. “We weren’t together at first.”

“So when did you first realize that you loved each other?” Oliver continued.

The angel and demon looked a little uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” said Oliver, “you don’t have to―”

“Well, it’s just that we’ve never talked about that before,” said Aziraphale. “We haven’t had the easiest time, I’m afraid, and God knows I didn’t do much to help things along. We’re together now, and that’s what’s important.”

Crowley looked from Aziraphale and back to Oliver. “Also in Eden,” he said, and took a sip of his wine.

“_Crowley,_” said Aziraphale, looking stricken.

“Angel,” said Crowley, “don’t.”

“But, my dear―”

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley. Aziraphale watched miserably as Crowley took his hand. “I know it wasn’t the same for you. It doesn’t have to be. Who said it does? I bet these two didn’t fall in love simultaneously either.”

“It’s true,” Paul said, remembering with horror Oliver’s expression when Paul had confessed his love on the fourth date.

“I hadn’t heard from God since Heaven,” Crowley continued, softly, as though Paul and Oliver weren’t watching, which they very much were, “I’d already discovered I was going to make a shit demon, and it’s not like I had friends in Hell. But you laughed with me and sheltered me from the rain like it was the most natural thing in the world. I’d not known kindness before then, angel. It was then I knew I wanted to feel your love, too.”

“Oh, Crowley, you have it,” said Aziraphale, eyes glistening. “I love you impossibly, you amazing creature. We belong together.”

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s hand. “I know that,” he said. “I know that now. I do. I swear.”

“And, er, if you want,” said Paul, awkwardly breaking the moment, “the second weekend in September works well for us. If you still want the church wedding.”

Crowley and Aziraphale gaped at him.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked.

Paul shrugged, feeling uncomfortable, but not like he regretted it. “Yeah,” he said. “We welcome those others do not. You clearly want to celebrate your love. Please do it at our church.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said in a small voice.

“Yes, _thank_ you,” Aziraphale said.

Then they turned towards each other and burst into delighted laughter, kissing each other and laughing and, yes, crying.

Paul felt Oliver’s arm settle around his shoulders. “You did good, kid,” Oliver said with a grin.

Paul smiled back feeling strangely blessed. “I did,” he said.

On the day of their wedding, the angel and demon arrived in separate cars. Aziraphale came first in a sensible taxi with two women ― the older one trying to get at him with some eyeliner, and the younger one adjusting her glasses every time Aziraphale looked at her for help.

Crowley came in a Bentley with four children he introduced as “the flower kids ― one of them’s the antichrist. Just ignore them and don’t make direct eye contact.”

Paul followed this advice, ushering them to another waiting room. There was a brief fight over who got to wheel Crowley into the room ― won by the girl ― and they shuffled inside.

Within five minutes, Paul had decided that Brian was the antichrist.

“No, put down the tabernacle. We _just_ had it replaced,” he shouted.

“Human child, unhand it this once!” Crowley snapped.

Brian stuck his tongue out, but left it alone. 

“Adam, go ask Anathema if they’re almost ready,” said Crowley. “In fact, all of you go ask Anathema if they’re almost ready.”

The children fled the room, and Paul thought he’d gone momentarily deaf in the sudden silence.

“We’re not having kids,” Crowley said. “The niece and nephews are enough.”

“There’s another boy out there, too,” Paul said. “American parents. Your side?”

Crowley’s face changed a little, but it was hard to tell with the sunglasses. “He came?”

“It appears so,” Paul answered.

“Oh,” said Crowley. “That’s ― oh.”

The kids rushed back to tell them that Aziraphale was ready. Crowley shooed them all back out to their places by threatening to wheel into their shins.

“Are you nervous?” Paul asked. He asked everyone because it seemed to help with nerves for some strange reason.

“No,” said Crowley with a faint smile. “But do me a favour and hand me that bag.”

Paul did. He watched as Crowley pulled out incredibly garish platform shoes.

“Do you … intend to wear those?” Paul asked. Crowley had his long hair in beautiful, thick ringlets. His black tuxedo looked striking. His wheelchair shone. Surely he wouldn’t place those on his feet.

“Well, yes,” Crowley said, leaning down to unlace his (snakeskin) dress shoes. “I want to stand in front of Aziraphale when we say the words. He’ll make a fuss, but… I want to. Listen, Paul.”

“Yes?” Paul answered, unable to look away from the platforms.

“Do you think She’ll hear? Do you―” Crowley kicked off both shoes and leaned back in the wheelchair, frustrated. His feet stayed on the little metal footrests.

“Sorry, who?” Paul asked, distracted.

“God,” Crowley said, taking off his glasses. His eyes no longer bothered Paul. Maybe it was seeing his eyes, maybe it was the red socks with the little yellow ducks on them, but Crowley looked especially vulnerable, and Paul snapped back to the present.

“God,” Paul repeated with a smile. “That depends, I think, on what you believe.”

“I _know_ God exists,” Crowley reminded him.

“But do you _believe_?” asked Paul. “You know angels exist, but I’d guess there’s one you believe in particularly.”

Crowley looked a little lost.

“Have faith,” Paul told him. “God will listen today. You’re in the right place. Which reminds me,” he added, grabbing the platforms out of Crowley’s hands.

“Hey―” Crowley said.

Paul shook his head, placing the shoes on a shelf out of Crowley’s reach. “I have a theory,” he said.

“A theory,” Crowley repeated, unimpressed.

“Yeah,” said Paul, grinning now. “Stand up. On the floor proper.”

“Stand ―” Crowley looked down. “It’ll burn. I’ll ruin the socks Aziraphale gave me for our anniversary.”

Paul held out a hand. “Have faith,” he said.

Crowley blinked up at him, eyes wide and terrified. “Faith,” he repeated, more to himself than Paul.

Slowly, Crowley put one foot on the floor. After a moment, he placed the other one down.

There was no smoke. The ducks didn’t burn.

Crowley stood up and took a few hesitant steps around the tiny room. Outside, the organ began to play the opening notes of the hymn Aziraphale had chosen.

“I don’t understand,” said Crowley, even though Paul was pretty sure he did.

“I wanted to show you,” Paul said. “You are welcome here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Eight, but that was still extremely respectful coming from the two of them who had once quipped their way through the entirety of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, picking up their previous discussion each movie with no mind to the fact that they were released several years apart. Newt had coincidentally been in the audience each time and could not believe his bad luck, though each time he turned around to frown at them, he found the back row miraculously empty.[return to text]


End file.
